Alis Volat Propriis
by Liaetha
Summary: Have you ever wondered, as most do, if there were any other Gryffindor girls? Well, there is. This is her story.


Slowly, the rain swirled down the window pane, dancing and twirling with the autumn breeze. The leaves rustled, whispering their songs, telling their secrets. A girl sat crying on the window ledge in her school dormitory. Her eyes, blotchy and red, were blue, and in the foggy glass the two colors swirled as though to make purple. She shifted her weight to her other side and sniffled a bit, gulping in a deep breath of air, forcing cries down into her throat. She focuses her gaze at the glass itself, and meets her reflection.  
  
Hi. I see you've met me. I'm the other Gryffindor. A loner, mostly, keeping to myself. Wallowing in my self pity and pain. Does it even help that no one ever reached out a hand for mine? Would I have grown so cold if another's touch kept me warm? Wondering these things is pointless for me. All of my therapists say I'm too much of a far-gone borderline personality to be helped. I'm really just depressed is all. But how can they know if they won't listen to my words? They hear my voice, they hear me speak, and yet they can't understand. But isn't that the way everything is?  
  
Being a 16 year old witch in a boarding school was bound to take its toll on me sooner or later. Two years ago I even started cutting on myself and burning myself. Not usually badly, just once or twice by accident, bad enough to need magic to heal it. I need to make my emotional pain physical to make it so I can handle it. I can't handle emotion. I don't believe in love, or fate, destiny, none of that crap. It's misused, lies, all of it, and I stopped believing it years ago. I'm quite the cynic, I suppose. But that's part of my personality, my sense of humor. My oddness.  
  
To come to that point, people here find me weird. Mainly because of my choice in music, to those who notice my lyrics, band names drawn on my notebooks. I like Japanese rock, bands and singers like Malice Mizer, Gackt, Dir en Gray, Plastic Tree, stuff like that. My favorite lyric is by Plastic Tree. It's also the answer I give to anyone who asks why I cut.  
  
It's because my memories are so beautiful they hurt.  
  
I was drawn from my reverie when my roommates, Parvati Patil and Lavendar Brown, came stumbling in, giddy and giggling as usual.  
  
"Oh, Summer. Sorry, we didn't know you were in here." Typical, I thought, amused and upset. No one notices my presence, really. Not here or at home. Well, I have and older sister and my aunt lives with us, so it's pretty hard to get noticed. I hugged my journal, a composition notebook collaged with singer's faces, closer to my chest and turned back to stare out the window.  
  
"Well aren't you a waste of two billion years of evolution?" I muttered snidely under my breath and scowled at the rain, which gamboled happily in front of me, and at Parvati and Lavendar, who were gaily chattering about this boy and that lipstick and blady-blady-blah. I knew everything about make-up and boys and all of the gossip in the school, just because the two stool pigeons talked so loudly you had no choice but to overhear them. I suppose I fell asleep that way, because the next time I opened my eyes, the sun was almost blinding me.  
  
"C'mon, Summer. I know you're anti-social and everything, but get up!" Parvati threw a pillow at me. It missed by feet and I snatched it up and threw it back, and it promptly hit her it the face. Hermione, an average, bushy haired girl, good friends with Harry Potter, spun around and said, "Parvati, leave her alone, she obviously wants nothing to do with you." Parvati shot a look of pure loathing, flicked her perfectly curled hair and swept haughtily from the room, Lavendar right behind her. I looked at Hermione quizzically.  
  
"And why, pray tell, does she hate you?" I asked. I couldn't help but notice that, ever since about January of Fourth year, that Parvati seemed to have taken a great disliking to Hermione. Hermione looked shocked. I'd never spoken to her directly, and now was probably an odd time to start. But hey, I was curious. I like to know things.  
  
"Well... I suppose it's because she has a crush on Harry, and I'm close friends with him." She said simply, as though it were that obvious. Ugh. I rolled my eyes.  
  
"How can anyone like anybody else in that way? It's just... beyond me." I grimaced at the thought of a boy holding my hand, smoothing my hair. Yuck. Not that I thought they had cooties. I just try not to got close to anyone. But, I had to admit, I was getting a little lonely.  
  
"Well, bah-humbug to you, too, Summer." Hermione scoffed, and she jumped back when I started laughing my head off. I admit, from her standpoint it must have been odd; after all, I hadn't spoken more than ten words to her or anyone in the years we'd been schoolmates. I fell hard on my bum on the cold stone floor, which hurt, and I laughed harder at it. Ah, the pain felt good. I laughed harder and harder.  
  
The look on Hermione's face was priceless. 


End file.
